


Part Of Your World

by Chess_Blackfyre



Series: Galahad Dulak: Space Doctor and Rare Emotionally Stable Jedi [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Arthurian Myth Meets Space Opera, Background Blyla, Little Mermaid Elements, Love at First Sight, MerMay, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24075664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chess_Blackfyre/pseuds/Chess_Blackfyre
Summary: Tristan comes to on a beach, soaked to the bone and coughing up seawater. The first thing he can make out is red--a large blur of red. The first thing he sees clearly are eyes: wide, dark, and impossibly kind.The first thing he thinks is: beautiful.
Relationships: CT-2381 | Tristan/Isolde Minaru, Original Clone Trooper Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Series: Galahad Dulak: Space Doctor and Rare Emotionally Stable Jedi [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664269
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	Part Of Your World

**Author's Note:**

> So. I was feeling inspired. Enjoy!

Saint was staring at Dulak. Again. Sure, yeah, he had his bucket on, but it was clear to any _vod_ exactly where his attention was. Major Dulak was currently in the midst of some negotiations with General Secura, with Saint, Tristan, and Commander Bly accompanying them. And two guesses as to who was way more focused on the Jedi then making sure they weren't about to be ambushed by the Seppies.

Tristan rolled his eyes but said nothing. If he ever fell in love, you wouldn't see him turning into a love-struck fool.

* * *

Tristan comes to on a beach, soaked to the bone and coughing up seawater. The first thing he can make out is red--a large blur of red crouching above him. The first thing he sees clearly are eyes: wide, dark, and impossibly kind.

The first thing he thinks is: beautiful.

"Hello there," a lilting, accented voice greets. The trooper snaps back to himself. The (beautiful, angelic) being in front of him is a Nautolan. Red skin, and red tendrils flowing down their back, and two falling over their shoulders. The solid, tight muscles of their arms that helped drag his limp body to the beach were from a lifetime of swimming. Those wide, dark eyes useful for navigating underwater.“I’m glad you’re alright.”

Tristan tries to return the greeting, but immediately starts coughing again. The Nautolan helps him to his side making sure he wouldn’t suddenly choke to death. Distantly, he registers that his sun bonnet and chest plate laid on the sand nearby. Based on the aching in his ribs, his rescuer must have performed chest compressions until he came to. That meant—he reaches up and touches his lips, under the guise of wiping anything else away.

He tried to sit up, but finds his arms suddenly uncooperative. He is assisted by strong hands, finding himself leaned up against smooth rock. Again, he tries to find the words, but he kept being distracted by the dark, beautiful eyes of his rescuer. Okay, wow, he should probably get checked for a concussion—maybe he’d hit his head or something after the LAAT/i got shut down. Yeah, totally. That combined with almost drowning explains why his heart was beating so fast, and he struggled to breathe while looking at—wait, he doesn’t even know their name yet.

The Nautolan tilts their head, observing him. “I suppose introductions are in order. I am Isolde Minaru.”

“Isolde,” he repeats, making sure to pronounce it correctly. He wasn’t at all savoring the feel of their name on his lips. No-sir. It totally wasn’t the most beautiful name he’d ever heard.

“And yours?”

“Huh? Oh!” He clears his throat. “I’m CT-2381—Tristan.” he flounders but finds his ground. “I’m a pilot with the 327th Star Corps, sir.”

“Which explains me finding you in the sinking cockpit.” A hum. “Not a sir.”

“Ma’am?”

An amused chuckle. “Not a ma’am either.”

“Okay…” he swallows. Basic suddenly feels so much more restricting, but he has his training. “Any preference?”

A shrug. “Either one works. What would you like me to call you?”

“Huh?”

“That number you rattled off—CT-2381, right?—or Tristan?”

“Tristan,” he rushes, perhaps a bit too overeager. “My brothers call me Tristan.”

“It’s a handsome name,” they compliment.“And a pleasure to meet you, Tristan,” and offer their hand.

As he clasps their hand with his own, the pilot doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t already head over heels. Call him a hypocrite, but he wouldn't mind if he could spend more time just looking into Isolde's beautiful eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Bly: “Tristan you can’t marry a man—“
> 
> Tristan: “They/them.”
> 
> Bly: “My apologies. You can’t marry a person you just met.”
> 
> Tristan: “BUT I LOVE THEM!”
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed this! I know I certainly did
> 
> As always, if you have any thoughts/questions/just want to say hello, comment bellow and let me know!


End file.
